Red Claws

I've just finished the last coat of the red nail polish. I can still type, thank heavens, and read fic, and it'll be dry before I head for bed in a few minutes (or hours - whenever). It's not a bright red - though I do have that shade, or the pale peach I've been wearing all week - it's a deadly, half-glittery red, a shade lighter than the inside of a ripe cherry.

My nails aren't usually this long - I keep them short for convenience sake, and when they get long enough that polish looks good, it's sort of a revelation to me.

All of a sudden, my fingers are elongated, and sharpened, and the nails are lacquered into sturdy claws that can take on anything. (Well, except a bottle of acetate.) And for a wonder - this has lasted a week.

The pale peach has worn off twice now - replenished in the evenings over reading or email, and tonight, I wanted something not quite as bland as the usual-workday-blend-into-a-crowd nails.

I'm feeling red and dangerous, and feed me some more cherries- manna, and step back - I'm on a roll. Grr.

Not that I'll do anything more crazy than contemplate my navel, but just knowing that I've got a little pot of whoop-ass on the back burner is a nice bit of navel lint to pull out every once in a while.

And red paint for the sheathed claws.